It's My Party, and I'll Cry If I Want To

Well, the third attempt has come and gone, much like Quiet's 30th birthday celebration. And thank god for that, on both counts. Well, actually, I should probably try one more attempt tonight (with the birth day thing, not the birthday thing), but since I'm tired and depressed and despondent, lately I just feel very hopeless about it. That's not a very pleasant attitude for conceiving a baby, but a cup and a syringe isn't exactly dinner and a movie either.

I think the party was a success, as parties go - there were at least 20 people in attendance, although it felt like 150 (thank god I didn't try to do a housewarming party on my own!), and they all seemed to have a good time. Most importantly, no one peed in anything unusual that I've found thus far, and my hair was big, and Quiet had a nice birthday, which is all that really mattered. Yay, Quiet is old!

And speaking of Quiet, here's the part where he needs to stop reading, since he doesn't need to hear me say hurtful things about his friend Loud or get out my stress about the party and life in general. He has enough to deal with being caught in the middle as it is. As if he's suppose to choose between me, the love of his life, and homemade turkey meatloaf! That's just cruel.

I'm just constantly amazed by how different family members can be, and yet how incredibly similar in the strangest ways. You all grow up in the same house, hearing the same things, doing the same stuff, and yet everyone becomes their own person no matter what. This has never been more evident than after a weekend with Loud's relatives. You can definitely see where he picks up his love of telling the same story over and over (I think there is some sort of comfort in this oral history tradition for them, despite the fact it makes me positively nuts, especially when the story isn't really a story, just something semi-funny someone once said repeated ad nauseum until I want to pop my own ear drums). I observed first-hand accounts of questionable hygiene modeling (don't even ask, but I'm going to be sterilizing the treadmill and the couch for sure).
But they were helpful. And, for the most part, considerate, or at the very least concious of their actions and aware of other people's feelings. Loud got none of this; his mother argues he did, it must not have stuck. Loud told me that since I had invited his family for the party that I was having, he shouldn't have to do anything with them. So when they arrived at 9 am Friday morning, he didn't get out of bed to say so much as hello while I made snacks and drinks and entertained and cleaned up after them, and pretty much kept doing that until 2 pm Sunday when everyone left. Meanwhile, Loud bitched to my friends and relatives that I was being mean to him 'for not helping enough'. At 6:00 pm the day of the party, about an hour after he woke up, he went and got alcohol since he wanted wine for himself. I guess I should be more grateful? According to my cousin he graciously wanted to cancel the whole thing last-minute, which I think is not only very considerate of me and the two months of preparation I had already done, but extremely considerate of Quiet, who did more cleaning and organization for his own party than Loud.
So speaking of Quiet, who is thoughtful and helpful and would do anything for anyone, you'd expect his family to be the same, but not a single member offered to help with the party preparations in any way. I compare this to how my family pitched in for my 30th party and it's just incredible to me. I was so desperate for help my own cousins were going to come early to get the place decorated. And don't get me started on his mother not being able to make it - my mother came from Canada for my party! I guess there are different priorities; I know I am quick to judge and I can't expect people to have the same consideration for things. But if this party taught me nothing else, it showed me how much my family loves me and always has, despite everything.

So what did I learn? Never, never, ever again will I try to do something like this. The more I did, the more bitter I got, and the harder it was to hide it as I got more tired and worn down. I don't want to be the martyr here, and I really didn't set out trying to do this thing all by myself. I honestly thought I'd have help, and I was yet again disappointed by Loud. You'd think I'd learn. Having houseguests made everything that much tougher, and I didn't expect the strain it would be to have people nattering at me all day long. I feel terrible that Quiet finally took most of them to the mall, something I know he most likely hated to do, but I would have walked out the door and not come back til tomorrow morning if he hadn't, and I think he saw that (he's very smart that way).
Loud's feelings are hurt. I know he doesn't understand my anger, because he wouldn't have complained to my friends and family about how mean and unrealistic I am if he understood. It's frustrating that he's so seemingly thoughtful and considerate to people other than me and Quiet, because then they think that WE are the crazy people, the naggers who are unsupportive and harsh. People don't understand what it's like to live with a Loud. He sleeps during the day, so is totally unavailable for anything that involves the house or is tired and grumpy and feels attacked if you try to have any sort of conversation with him during 'normal' hours, and complains bitterly about it although it is a schedule of his design. He makes dinner at 1 am and then plays video games til 3, but doesn't notice how loud the microwave or TV is. He often works from bed the rest of the night, music blaring, and flies into a rage if Quiet asks him to wear headphones. He makes promises to take care of things, pick things up, put things away, follow up on stuff, but never does any of it, and says straight to our faces he doesn't see why he should.

And finally we get to the crux of the issue (I knew you were waiting, wondering how all this complaining and Loud-bashing fit into the DIY plan). Like Quiet, I thought I knew what I was getting into when I befriended Loud, but at that time I was on the other side. Plus, I'm still a girl, so thought it wasn't as bad as Quiet said it was (early on in our friendship Loud had told me that Quiet had a tendency to over-exagerate his bad habits and negative traits), and even if so, Loud could change. When I was a casual acquaintance he had all the time in the world for me, was supportive and thoughtful and apologetic if anything happened to offend, so for the first couple years it was pretty fun. But as we got closer and he seemed to grow to care less and less, I've become the bad guy, for having the gall to ask him to help pay the guy who cuts the grass or not leave his dirty socks in my blankets. If I can't manage now, when Quiet and I are already pulling more than our share and I can't even talk to him without the conversation ending in shouting and tears, how am I suppose to manage when I have another little person? If he can't be considerate of his partner or his friend, why would I expect he would behave any differently with a baby around? I'm already resented, I can't take any more of that, and I won't have Alistair resented.

My sister had a good point; where's the hardass my family knows and loves? As I get older, I really worry about reacting to things like my dad, and I try to be more patient and give second chances. At heart I do love Loud and want everything to work out. I know he has great traits, otherwise I would be out the door already. But she's right; I keep giving him these fourth and fifth chances, keep my mouth shut, overlook stuff, pick my battles - how far does that go? I wish I could be more like Quiet, able to forgive and forget easily, but I'm just not that person, and it gets worse when I try.

I don't really like any of our options. If we can't get things worked out, then we have to sell the house, which is bad enough on its own (all that freaking painting! and that packing/unpacking! I love this house! I don't want to be separated from Quiet, the best roomie I've ever had, second only to Karen!). But then what? I get my own place and try to raise the baby on my own? Or I move back closer to my family and they help, totally giving up my life here. Or I forget this whole crazy baby notion and either get my own place or some other roommate that I'll most likely despise, and be filled with regret every day til I die. This is the problem with consequences, and ultimatums; something has to happen.